Good Idea, Bad Idea
by murderofonerose
Summary: It seemed like a good idea at the time. Nathan/Seth
1. Good Idea

**Pairing/Characters:** Nathan/Seth  
**Warning(s):** Um… Seth's presence.  
**Word Count:** 245  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing.  
**Author Notes:** I was going for fluff. Don't ask me why - I've just never seen or heard of any fic in which Seth is part of a pairing that doesn't involve some sort of pain, and I took that as a challenge. Set during Dethfam.

Seth, you are a creeper.

**

* * *

Good Idea**

* * *

Nathan Explosion didn't have brilliant ideas very often, but he figured this had been at least a good one. Anything that was a distraction from the fact that his parents were in Mordhaus had to be a good one… even if it meant ending up lying in bed listening to Seth brag about how, yeah, he'd learned how to do that in prison. That thing with his hips _and_ the thing with his tongue. Yeah. Prison. No big.

To be fair, both of those things _had_ been pretty good.

Nathan stretched, relaxing back onto his pillow with a sated yawn. Good idea. Yeah. And he'd been careful to make Seth sign all that legal crap, up to and including a paternity waver (because neither of them had bothered to actually _read_ anything at the time), which meant that none of what had just happened could come back and bite him in the ass.

Beside him, Seth was sitting up against one of the bedposts smoking a cigarette, legs spread under casually but strategically placed sheets and one foot brushing teasingly against Nathan's thigh every now and then. Still talking. Ugh, didn't this guy ever shut up?

"Hey," Nathan grunted, interrupting him in the middle of… whatever. "Shut up."

Seth took a long drag on his cigarette, then blew smoke towards Nathan's face with a crooked grin. They both watched idly as the smoke got about halfway there and drifted up towards the high, darkened ceiling.


	2. Bad Idea

**Characters:** Nathan, Pickles, Charles, mentions of Nathan/Seth  
**Summary:** Seth just couldn't keep his mouth shut.  
**Word Count:** 479  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

Oh Pickles. I'm not sure why I keep writing this, but I have vague plans for another part already…

* * *

**Bad Idea**

* * *

"Dood! Whet the fuck were you doing screwing my douchebeag brother?!"

Nathan knew he shouldn't have answered the summons to Ofdensen's office.

"Calm down, Pickles, let me handle this." Charles fixed the front man with a level stare. His voice leaked only a hint of resigned disapproval. "Nathan, I hope you took the necessary… precautions."

"Yeah, I did. I'm not stupid," Nathan grumbled, scowling.

He _had_ been in a good mood until now – no more parents lurking around, the faint reek in the hallways of Stella Murderface's BO was starting to dissipate, and he'd gotten laid recently. But apparently Seth was just as much of a dick as Nathan had heard, because he'd obviously said something to Pickles before leaving.

"And?" Charles prompted.

"I made him sign waiver stuff," Nathan snapped. "And I wore a condom, 'cause he's, you know. Been in prison."

"I hope ya made him bresh his teeth, too," Pickles said nastily.

Nathan scowled at Pickles, then turned his attention back to Charles. "Hey, I made him sign one of those things so he couldn't, uh, tell anybody. Can't you just have him shot or something?"

"No, I can't just have him shot. The legal rights to operate as our own police force are still in negotiation."

Pickles slammed a fist down on the desk. "You shouldn'ta been sleeping with'im at all! That asshole is _naht_ gonna fuck his way into this band, okay?"

He jabbed Nathan accusingly in the chest, hitting the bigger man's only recently re-healed liver transplant scar and digging in painfully. And that was kind of worrying, because if it came down to an actual fight Nathan was pretty sure that Pickles knew most of his weak points already.

"Okay?!"

"Okay, fine!" It wasn't worth it to argue, even if he wanted to. Pickles was _mean_ in a fight. "I wasn't going to do it again anyway. That guy's an asshole."

For a long moment Pickles just stared him down, squinting suspiciously. Just stared. Then he abruptly backed off, apparently satisfied with that. "No fuckin' kidding," he muttered darkly, shoving his hands in his pockets.

A businesslike rustling of papers drew their attention back to Charles.

"Right. So that's settled, then?" Charles looked back and forth between the two musicians, then quickly moved on. "Nathan, if you could have those signed documents brought to me, I'll start working on containing the situation."

Nathan shrugged dismissively. "Yeah, okay."

At this point he just wanted to get out of there and have a beer. Maybe take a shower, and just in general forget about the whole thing. Legal bullshit and Pickles' family crap was not what he'd signed on for. Charles would wait an hour or two and then arrange to get the documents himself, and everything would be taken care of; as far as Nathan was concerned, his part in this was done.


	3. Troubling Idea

**Pairing/Characters:** Nathan/Seth  
**Warning(s):** Seth, banana sticker theft  
**Word Count:** 946  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing.  
**Author Notes:** Man, I can't believe I wrote more of this. It just keeps going...

* * *

**Troubling Idea**

* * *

Somehow, Nathan had honestly expected that would be the end of it. That's what usually happened when he shrugged responsibilities off for Charles to take care of.

And he forgot to check the caller ID before he answered his dethphone.

"Hello?"

"Hey there big guy."

…Crap.

Nathan shifted over, putting a bit more space in between him and the other guys. It didn't look as suspicious as it could have because he was sitting next to Murderface; luckily, there was no one to his right for about half of the hot tub. "Who is this?" he grumbled, even though he knew damn well who.

There was a pause, and then a mildly annoyed, "It's Seth. You know."

"Hmn." Nathan contemplated just dropping the phone in the water. That would definitely end the call, but he wasn't sure if that would also electrocute him or not. He made a mental note to try that sometime _he_ wasn't in the hot tub. Just in case. "How did you get this number?"

Seth laughed quietly, annoyance dropping out of his voice abruptly. "I have ways. I'm good with numbers. I gaht the PIN number for Pickles' bank account, if ya want it."

It was really hard not to look at Pickles when he said that, just automatically. Luckily everyone else was busy doing their own thing – drinking, watching stuff on the various screens around the room, practicing guitar, sinking down to make motorboat noises and blow bubbles in the water – and more or less ignoring each other. Nathan scowled down at the beer bottle in his other hand, for lack of anything else.

"Why would I need that?"

"Just sayin'," Seth replied smoothly. "Anyway. I was thinking we should get together sometime. Thought I would pick your brain about that, ya know? My schedule's pretty free, I just need a plane ticket…"

"Uh, no."

"Aw c'mahn. I know you liked it. You've gahtta want that again."

Nathan shifted uncomfortably. "No. Uh… really no."

"Ya know what I found in yer room?" Seth continued in a low voice. "I found some stickers. Found these banana stickers. I took a couple, ya have a lot so I knew you wouldn't miss 'em, and they remind me of you."

Stealing his banana stickers? Okay, that was just—

"Ya know what banana stickers look like?" Seth asked, voice getting even quieter. Nathan had to scowl to hear him – scowling helped his concentration, and distracted him from the effect that soft, slippery voice was having. "Bananas. And ya know what bananas look like?"

A short pause, a low chuckle. _Fuck, what an asshole,_ Nathan thought angrily to himself. _He's doing this on purpose. Fuck that guy._ His hand moved subtly under the water to try and hide what was happening, just in case anyone noticed… though if anyone did comment he'd be able to call them out on looking, and change the subject that way.

That would probably fool everyone but Pickles. And then Pickles would go tell on him to Charles again. He'd have to face the angry yelling and that calm, subdued disappointment, again. And Nathan didn't want any of that to happen.

"I just gaht out of the shower," Seth added casually. "I like ta air dry. Read somewhere that's better for the skin, or something. Feels good, just stretchin' out on the bed, maybe, ya know, havin' a little fun. You ever do that sorta thing?"

Nathan stubbornly didn't answer. Wouldn't have, he swore to himself, even if the guys hadn't all been sitting a few feet away. He could imagine the smirk on Seth's face perfectly, because it was the same smirk Pickles had half the time. God this was so fucked up.

His breath was coming out a little too heavily, and the phone seemed to be picking that up because Seth chucked again. "Course ya do. I bet yer doin' it right now…" Nathan's hand twitched guiltily under the water, even though he _wasn't_ doing anything, but the tiny movement sent enough of a jolt through him to make him realize that, really, he was. Just not on purpose. Or Seth was. Someone. His frown changed to one of slight confusion. "I bet yer thinkin' about whet I'm doin' right now…"

He was trying not to.

"Nat'ans!"

Shit! Startled, he dropped his phone and yelled, "WHAT?"

His phone hit the water. He winced and braced himself for being electrocuted.

Toki gave him a funny look. "I beens tryings to ask yous how many seeds haves in de insides de watersmelon. What's you's prosblems?"

"Nothing! Uh." He hesitated. "I just got one of those calls… from… those people who sell stuff over the phone. They, uh, wouldn't let me hang up. It was brutal."

He waited. Would they buy it? They'd better buy it. Because if they didn't, it was going to be really, really awkward to sit there and be interrogated while trying to ignore a hard-on.

"God, I hate it when that happensch," Murderface grumbled. "They juscht go on and on about schtupid schit that no one wantsh to buy or they'd've got it at a shtore already."

Pickles smirked. (Nathan tried not to look. It was just too fucked up.) "Or ahn the internet," he said, gesturing at nothing with his drink.

"Ja, dey just goes ons and ons, ands you wants to tells dem, 'Fucks you, go die,' but's dere amn'ts any quiets space to says it ins," Skwisgaar said. "Because… dey just keeps talkings."

Nathan relaxed almost imperceptibly. Okay, he could get through this. He still had a problem, but if he ignored it for long enough then eventually it would go away.


End file.
